Rose Song (Меч Мартина)

I planted her gently last summer,
all in quiet evening shade,
within an orchard bower,
her little bed I made.
Alone I sat by my window,
as autumn leaves did fall,
they formed a russet cover for
My Rose of Old Redwall.

Through winter’s dreary days she slept
beneath the cold dark ground,
when all the earth was silent,
white snows lay deep around.
Bright stars came out above her,
as to the moon I’d call,
take pity on my dearest one,
My Rose of Old Redwall.

How the grass grew green and misty,
soft fell the rain that spring,
her dainty budded head arose,
and made my poor heart sing.
Then summer brought her just one bloom,
so white, so sweet and tall,
with ne’er a thorn to sully her,
My Rose of Old Redwall.

Martin, Martin,
The Warrior of Redwall,
With courage and his trusty sword,
He came to save us all.